


Rx: Physical Therapy

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Children, Dating, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Relationship(s), Secrets, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Physical therapist Dean Winchester is a month into his new job at a local hospital when he literally runs into the surgeon responsible for his client list, Dr. Castiel Novak.





	1. Consultation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a commission for the Fic-Facer$ auction at the end of last year. As a disclaimer, I, personally, do not ship Destiel, but I also have no problem with the ship and love both characters.

 

Coffee. Without it, Dean Winchester failed to function. Given his new workload in a new hospital and a whole new list of patients, he needed all the energy he could get. No one should be forced to wake, let alone function, at such an unholy hour. His only saving grace was the empty café at six o’clock in the morning. And sure, if pressed, he couldn’t complain about the sun rising over the trees of the nearby park.

The barista called his name and set his coffee on the counter. When Dean picked it up, he thanked her by name. She thanked him in return with a wink and a, “See ya tomorrow, sweetie.” Not uncommon, her flirtation, but Dean blushed anyway.

Drink in hand, he sipped from the steaming cup as he turned for the door. The rays of early sunlight warmed his chilled bones on his way out as he passed the large café windows. With his mind racing in eight different directions, he pushed aside the front door only to stumble through it. Lucky for him, a man he recognized from the hospital was on his way in and caught Dean by the shoulder.

“Hey, slow down,” the man said. “I don’t need to see you in my office with a dislocated shoulder.”

Dean placed him at the sound of his voice. “Dr. Novak,” he breathed. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Keeping you from falling flat on your face, it seems,” Castiel replied. “Aside from getting coffee, that is,” he added with a nod towards Dean’s cup.

No shit. Smooth, Dean. Very smooth. What else would a guy be doing at a coffee shop at six o’clock in the morning? “Yeah,” he started. “Sorry about the door. In a bit of a hurry, was hoping to get to the office early. Catch up on paperwork.”

“Behind already?” Castiel asked with a small smile.

Dean struggled to focus on his words as Castiel’s bright blue eyes threatened to drown him. No. Not just any blue. Azure. Even in the dim light of the morning sun, that was painfully obvious.

“Mr. Winchester? Are you…”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Sorry, the paper work. Yeah, it’s crept up on me. You know you send me at least one new post-op a week, right?”

Castiel laughed and Dean felt an unfamiliar sting in his cheeks at that. How had this man, a man he hardly knew, managed to fluster him so fast? The thought fled when Castiel spoke. “I’m the best surgeon in town, and you’re about to be the busiest physical therapist as a result.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder again. “Can I give you some advice?”

About work or personal things, Dean thought. The question vanished as quickly as it manifested. “Absolutely.”

“Lean on your staff. They work for you for a reason,” Castiel said. “You’ll retain your sanity that way. And free up your evenings.”

“My evenings?” Dean asked.

Castiel breathed a short laugh through his nose as he looked to his feet. “Like this Friday evening. Instead of doing paperwork, you could go out. Have a drink.”

When Castiel’s gaze returned to Dean’s, he froze. Sudden understanding washed over him like a tidal wave, and he stuttered his reply. “I… could do that. I think.”

“There’s an Irish pub down the street. Meet me there at eight on Friday?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded as he smiled, still baffled by the doctor’s sudden behavior. Several seconds passed before he gathered his wits and replied. “As long as it’s not a date.”

Castiel’s smile rivaled that of the rising sun. “I never said anything about a date.”

“Good,” Dean retorted. “Drinks between colleagues then.”

When Castiel squeezed his shoulder, Dean cleared his throat to hide the sharp suck of his breath. Castiel repeated him with a crooked smile. “Drinks between colleagues. See you then.”

And then, he was gone. As if Dean had imagined the entire conversation, Castiel disappeared around the corner without another look.


	2. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean have a drink at the bar.

Dim yellow light dotted the bar where Castiel sat waiting with his nerves. Several patrons sat to either side of him, a second chair to his right reserved by his coat. Throughout the bar groups of friends, lovers, and families talked and laughed, reveling in their drink and company.

What in holy hell was he doing?

Once more, Castiel questioned his sanity. What had gotten into him? He had only met Dean a month ago when the hospital had opened their physical therapy wing. That had been a brief exchange when the young physical therapist had taken on the responsibility of rehabilitating Castiel’s patients.

But Castiel would never forget the easy smile on Dean’s face that first day. He would never forget the way Dean had looked him in the eye and Castiel, usually so witty, had fallen grossly silent. But that’s all it had been. A brief connection in a brief moment that meant next to nothing.

But if that were the case, why had he invited Dean out for a drink? What had possessed him to behave with such recklessness?

The answer strode through the door clad in brown boots, tight black jeans, a light blue plaid shirt over a gray Henley, and leather jacket. Green eyes meet his as Dean spotted him, his face lighting up with his brilliant smile. He traversed the packed bar, navigating through the throng only to stop short as he reached Castiel.

A flicker of hesitation flashed in his gaze, and for a second, Castiel wondered if Dean had meant to hug him. He had thought to do the same but froze the moment Dean neared him. So, when Dean held out his hand, Castiel put on his best smile and shook it.

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” Dean said over the cacophony of the bar. “I don't do this much.”

Confused, Castiel asked, “What do you mean? You’re a young, good-looking guy, you should be out every weekend.”

That familiar hue of pink crept across Dean's nose just like it had that morning at the coffee shop. A subtle lick of his lips failed to hide his embarrassed smile as Dean looked to his shoes. “I moved into town about two months ago. Had to get away from my… my old place. So, I don't know too many folks around here.”

Something in his words suggested that there was more to Dean's story but Castiel didn’t want to pressure him. “I'll introduce you to some of my friends another time,” he said as he handed Dean a fresh beer. “Hope you like winter ale.”

“This time if year, I do,” Dean replied as he sat in the empty chair.

He shuffled closer once Dean seated himself. Castiel hoped that, though Dean might have noticed the subtle shift, he wouldn’t mind. “Any family nearby?”

There it was again, that subtle hesitation, as if Dean had wanted to say more but chose a simpler answer instead. Indecision lasted but a moment, and Dean nodded as he drank a long pull from his beer. “My younger brother, yeah. He's just outside of town, so I've spent most of my free time with him.”

“You have a brother?” Castiel mused. “There's two of you Winchesters?”

The laugh that emanated from Dean consumed Castiel with unexpected warmth. And God, what a smile. Dean didn’t miss a beat. “There are. Sam’s a lawyer. A damn good one at that.”

“A lawyer,” Castiel wondered aloud, then sipped from his glass. “And how did you get into physical therapy?”

“I wanted to help people,” Dean replied. “Not quite how I envisioned it, but I enjoy the day to day. And it helps most folks.”

“After I’ve patched them up first,” Castiel jested.

Dean inclined his head. “Of course. Surgeons tend to keep me busy.”

Castiel laughed into his own drink, then said, “I kid. You have the hard job. I just go in and try to clean up a mess. You actually have to get people moving again. That’s not always possible.”

A furrowed brow responded before Dean spoke, several seconds of silence drowning in the sea of talk and dinner and merriment. He glanced at his beer, spun between thumb and forefinger, then looked to his feet again. “It isn’t always possible,” Dean started, then returned his eyes to Castiel’s. Resignation clouded his green stare, an old look, a familiar look.

Castiel wanted to commiserate with him, desperate to console, to see that smile of his again. “You do good work from what I've seen. That's why we hired you.”

That seemed to buoy his spirits. “Thanks,” Dean said with a twitch at a corner of his lips. “So, what about you? Family? What do surgeons do for fun?”

Castiel choked on his drink at the shift in conversation back to him. “I ah… no,” he started. “No family. Moved here a few years ago. Needed a change of pace.”

A flash of confusion crossed Dean’s sudden glare. Dread filled Castiel’s stomach with a rush of bile, terrified that Dean had seen right through him. The façade gnawed at his nerves. Lies—only one, really—might end this friendship before it even began. So why lie? Dean didn't deserve that. And neither of them needed the drama.

Dean's crestfallen frown preceded his words. “Sorry to hear that,” he said, “but friends, right? They get you out on Friday nights, too?”

Did Dean flirt out of habit or was it simply the way he talked? “A few friends, yeah. We're all doctor types, though. Kinda boring.”

Somewhere in that statement was a joke and thankfully, Dean laughed again. “I dunno, I find surgeons damn entertaining. They're easy targets.”

The sting of embarrassment rushed to his cheeks as Castiel stuttered, “What?”

“For jokes. Easy targets for jokes,” Dean clarified. With a deft touch, he grasped his shoulder and reassured him with a smile. “Relax, doctor. I'm not going to push you that far just yet.”

“You will, though?” Castiel asked. “Eventually? Because I'm pretty terrible at… whatever this is.”

Dean's laughter permeated the thrum of the bar to find Castiel ears. And what a pure, rapturous laugh it was, for Castiel nearly wept. Dean smoothed his shoulder, still in his grasp, as he said, “You're the one that got me out of the house. Don’t sell yourself short.”

True though that was, Castiel felt as if he were floundering. “I… don’t even know what to talk about. Do you… like sports?”

Dean shrugged with an indiscernible frown. “I follow soccer some. I’d much rather play sports,” he admitted. “What about you?”

Dammit. He’d hoped Dean might ramble about a favorite team. “Yeah, I don't watch sports. I run. That's about it. Sorry, thought it’d be a good topic. I told you, I don't know what I'm doing.”

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean excused.

 _Cas_.

He hardly believed it. Not fifteen minutes into their evening, and Dean had grown that comfortable with him already. “Cas?”

Dean shrugged as casual as ever, but that same pink hue returned to his cheeks. “Don't your friends call you that?”

 For a long second, Castiel stared, complete wonder leaving him speechless. “Uh yeah,” he started, then laughed. “Yeah, they do.”

“Awesome,” Dean said with a crooked grin and Castiel couldn't help but smile, too.

The night continued, their awkward stumbling through conversation steadily improving. Pop culture was the primary topic, Dean a movie and TV show buff, and Castiel contributed where he could. When things shifted to current events, Castiel couldn’t pass up the chance to show off his extensive knowledge of world history.

And Dean didn't seem to mind. He listened with rapt attention, one hand holding his head as his elbow rested on the bar. If he hadn’t been paying attention, Castiel might have rambled for hours. Dean might have let him, given the enamored gaze with which he stared.

But as all good things must come to an end, so too must their evening together. It wasn't until last call that they noticed the bar had nearly emptied. When Dean finished his second beer—he had fended off additional drinks claiming he had work to do in the morning—Castiel wished they never had to leave.

Yet, leave they did. Into the night they walked, their coats gathered about their necks, shielded from the frigid December air. When they arrived at Castiel’s car Dean lingered, another hesitation that Castiel worried he imagined. But he didn’t wonder long, for when he reached for the handle, Dean grasped his hand and pulled him flush to his chest for a tight hug.

“I had a great time tonight.”

Were it not for Dean’s embrace, Castiel would have collapsed there on the sidewalk. Those strong arms around his shoulders and the heat of his breath on his neck weakened his knees. God, how could anyone expect him to resist?

“Me, too,” he managed as he returned Dean’s hug. “Been a while.”

Dean leaned back, that familiar blindingly bright smile on his face. “We should do it again some time,” he suggested as he released him.

“Give me your number?” Castiel asked, “I’ll text you, so then you have mine. Call me when you want to get together next?”

Dean withdrew his phone from his coat pocket. “Brave soul. Who says I won’t call you five minutes after you leave?”

Castiel shrugged to mask his hopes for that very thing. “I wouldn’t mind the company on the way home.”

When Dean laughed, Castiel thought he knew how the rest of the night would go. He’d get in his car, Dean might call him for a final goodnight, and then he’d find himself dragged to bed by his tired feet. And though exhausted, Castiel would lie awake in his bed, wondering about the possibilities, the future. He would worry and debate and argue with himself that he deserved some happiness after the last few years.

And then he would chastise himself for lying, for keeping the one thing from Dean that Castiel wished he could tell him. But Jean’s happiness meant far more to him than anything else in the world. So he would keep it simple; their relationship would amount to nothing more than casual, and that would be the end of it.

 Way to ruin the moment. Any desire Castiel had to end their evening on a more intimate note left the station on that train of thought. He sighed as he grabbed the handle of his car door and pulled. “See you on Monday?”

Was that disappointment in his eyes? “Yeah,” Dean started as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Monday.”

With that, Castiel left. He got in his car. He didn't look back. Dean didn't call him, and when he arrived at his home, he didn't go to bed. Instead, he eased open the door of his daughter’s bedroom, sneaked to her bed, and sat beside her. Jean lay fast asleep, breathing her shallow breaths and dreaming her little child dreams.

For the third time that evening, Castiel questioned his sanity.


	3. Recommendation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean calls Castiel to invite him over for dinner.

Dean withdrew his phone from his pocket. A swipe of his thumb unlocked the screen, and another revealed his list of contacts. The last press dialed a number for the first time. He moved as though in a trance, slow and without thought. It was the ringing tone that rushed him back to reality. Dean held his phone to his ear, unsure of when he’d made the call. Apoplectic with shock, his jaw fell slack as he stared straight ahead, unseeing. Why was he calling him? And so soon. All Dean could think about over the weekend was his time at the bar with Castiel. He had wanted to talk to with him again since the moment they’d parted that evening. He had so many questions, and so many things he wanted—no, needed—to say.

But when Castiel’s voice sounded on the other end of the line, Dean merely squawked.

“Dean?” Castiel asked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” Dean said far too loudly. “Sorry… I’m fine. Good, even. How are you?”

A short pause unsettled his nerves. “I’m well. To what do I owe the honor?”

“I just… wanted to talk,” he stuttered as he searched his kitchen for answers. “See how your weekend went.”

Another pause preceded his response, perfectly short enough to be a sip from a drink but long enough to grind Dean’s nerves to dust. “It was relaxing, for once. Wasn’t on call for the first time in a while.”

“That’s… that’s great,” Dean started, but fell silent. Though he had so much to say, none of it sounded right. It was too soon.

“Was there… anything you needed?” Castiel asked.

 _Him_.

“What was that?”

Shit. He groaned as rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “I said that out loud?”

Castiel laughed a hearty laugh as he said, “You did. It was cute.”

Cute. Sure. Maybe to Castiel. Dean thought he sounded needy, or worse, creepy. “I’m sorry, I should have waited until Monday…”

“It’s okay, Dean,” he said. “I’m surprised you waited this long to call. I would have earlier but was preoccupied.”

Dean frowned at that. “I thought you said you relaxed.”

Castiel snorted another laugh through his nose. “My definition of ‘relax’ is probably most people’s ‘exhaustion’. Got caught up on a bunch of things around the house. Went snowshoeing in the park last night. And caught up on a few medical journals today. You know, boring shit.”

“That doesn’t sound boring at all,” Dean mused as he looked across his living room.

“I could take you snowshoeing some time,” Castiel suggested. “It’s exercise, but fun. Anyway, what about you? Good weekend?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond but froze with the words on the tip of his tongue. Damn. That was close. He’d nearly let it slip. But Castiel made talking so easy. And a subconscious part of him wondered what Castiel would think of him. He had lied. By omission, of course. But it had been a lie, nonetheless, and as Dean stared at his children’s toys organized in their crates and bins along the far wall of the living room, he wondered if had made a mistake in calling Castiel.

“Dean? Are you there?”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. I’m a little distracted,” Dean apologized.

“Would you like to call me back later?” Castiel asked. “I’ve got no plans tonight.”

“No, I’m just…”

Once more, Dean fell silent, unsure of exactly what he was, what he felt, what he thought. But then the words were out of his mouth without a second thought. “I want to cook dinner for you.”

If all it took was a little bit of his awkwardness to get Castiel to laugh like he did, Dean vowed to be awkward every minute for the rest of his life. When his laughter subsided, Castiel said, “All that to invite me over?”

“Gimme a break, man, will you come over or not?” Dean chastised as he turned back for the kitchen.

“Alright, alright. When? Text me your address?”

Dean sighed the weight from his chest. “Friday? At eight? And I’ll text you.”

“Friday at eight, it is,” Castiel repeated with a subtle dip in timbre. “Can’t wait.”

Dean grinned as he withdrew a beer from the fridge. “Me, too.” The bottle cap rattled in the sink, tossed with a flick of his wrist.

“Bye, Dean.”

“Bye.”

He turned back to the living room as he set his phone on the counter, a wide grin spread across his face. He would cook steaks on the grill. Fuck December. Baked potatoes. Sautéed mushrooms. Beer. No, Castiel might want wine. He’d have to call Sam for that. Maybe Castiel would bring a bottle of his own. He should call him back, ask him what he wanted.

The longer he stared at the living room, the worse he felt. Something was wrong. It took half the bottle of Margiekugel before Dean understood what he had just done.

Castiel was coming over for dinner in little less than a week. And Dean’s living room was full of John and Sandra’s toys.

Son of a bitch.


	4. Alternatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a little getting to Dean's for dinner, but it works out. Mostly.

Quarter after eight.

Shit.

Castiel took a sharp turn around the corner, his old Charger hugging the corner with precision. Soccer practice had gone too long. And Jean had wanted to talk to her coach after. By the time he had dropped her off at Hannah’s, the twenty minutes it would take to get across town would make him twenty minutes late. He’d texted Dean to let him know. But again, he’d lied, using an on-call emergency at the hospital as his excuse. That left him with more than a sour taste in his mouth, but Jean came before anyone and anything. She had to. No one else would put her first.

The tires chirped as Castiel accelerated around the last corner, and a hard stop slid the two-tone red and black car to a halt in front of Dean’s house. He must have heard him pull up, for when Castiel bounded from the car with his bottle of wine in hand, Dean opened the front door of his house and ventured onto the porch.

At the top of the stairs, Castiel huffed an exhausted breath as he handed the bottle over. “I… am so sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal, Cas, don't worry about it,” Dean said as he took the bottle. “Really, the steaks only take a few minutes, everything else is cooking. Come in.”

A wave of relief washed over him as Castiel followed Dean into his home. With his shoes and coat left in the entry hall, he rounded the corner and found a large living room that gave way to a neat kitchen. “You live here? By yourself?”

From the kitchen, Dean said something Castiel could hardly hear over the exhaust fan above the stove. What he did hear made little sense—something about having roommates at one point—but Castiel didn’t think to ask any further. If Dean wanted to keep parts of his past to himself, that was fine with him. After all, Castiel had his secrets. Why would Dean not have a few of his own?

As Castiel continued to observe, something out of the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. Two bar stools at the center island of the kitchen stood side by side, their leather seats worn with use, a sign of their age. But the faded texture wasn’t what caught him by surprise. On the floor between the two chairs lay a dark plastic figure. Castiel approached the counter as Dean turned to him with the open bottle of wine and a glass poured half way.

When he knelt to the floor, Castiel reached for the figure and turned it over to discover a faded yellow symbol on its chest; Batman. As he stood, he straightened the figure, righting its crumpled legs, then set it on the counter.

He saw it. Dean's cursory glance passed over the figure with a flick of his eyes, but he said nothing. When Castiel looked to the figure for a long moment, Dean followed him.

As if bitten, Dean startled and snatched the figure from the counter. “It's… it's a…”

“Batman.”

“Yes!” Dean squawked. “Batman. Um… I collect action figures,” he stuttered as he gestured with the toy. “Like rare ones.”

Castiel worried his lie ran deeper than necessary. “So, you take them out of their packaging and play with them until they're faded and worth nothing?”

Dammit. He hadn’t meant to put Dean on the spot like that. But he had. Tension crawled along his spine as that familiar sting of embarrassment burned his cheeks. “I’m sorry, that was rude,” Castiel pleaded, gaze averted.

“I don’t have an answer for that one,” Dean admitted with an annoyed glare. “I’m not sure why I took him out. Box might have been damaged,” he said as he shrugged and turned back to the stove top.

Great, Castiel. Excellent way to start the evening. Call out the guy you’re interested in on his bullshit. That’ll turn him on for sure. Nicely done.

“Do you need help?” Castiel asked as he rounded the counter.

Dean shrugged again. “No, I got it. Just need to go get the steaks on the grill, coals should be ready,” he replied.

“I can do that,” he offered. “Show me to the grill?”

With a resigned sigh, Dean grabbed the plate of raw steaks and motioned him toward the door off the kitchen. “Deck is this way.”

Castiel took the plate and followed Dean to the deck, the flood light flipped on with a switch. Through the door they stepped into the chilly December air and onto the deck that overlooked the backyard. A low hill rolled away from the deck to the modest space lined with ancient oak trees that towered overhead. Small rainforest plants grew in both corners to gather runoff. And a detailed patio space with chairs and a firepit consumed a third corner near the deck.

“Holy shit, where’d you find this place?”

That got a smile out of him. “Good realtor. But it didn’t look like this when I bought it. Took me all summer to do the landscaping. Obviously, the oak trees were here, but that was it.”

Castiel opened the grill to find smoldering coals and hickory chips smoking. He placed both steaks on the grate and covered it. “You did all of this?”

“Yeah,” Dean started. “Well, Sam helped. But I designed it and between the two of us, we spent the entire summer back here. It was a good project.”

When Dean shrugged for a third time, Castiel sighed, so frustrated with himself. The impulse to reach out, to reconnect with Dean compelled him. “Hey,” he started as he touched the back of his arm, “I’m sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Dean stared him down, green eyes illuminated by the floodlight. He said nothing for several seconds, the hiss of the grill permeating the silent winter stillness. When he nodded, Dean said, “I know. It’s weird. This… whatever we’re doing? It’s kind of new to me. I’m not used to… _this_.” He gestured at the space between them and laughed. “You know, normally, I’d have made a move by now.”

Castiel closed the space between them as he asked, “What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing,” Dean said with a raised brow and a shake of his head. “I mean, you’re here. Again. Despite my awkwardness last week and my stupid phone call on Sunday, you came. You wanted to see me again.” He smiled then, a brilliant flash of white as he stepped into Castiel’s embrace. “I guess I’m just worried I’m gonna fuck this up.”

The warmth of Dean’s arm encircled his waist, and Castiel melted into him. Side by side they leaned upon each other in silence, Castiel content to let the moment linger. But when the hissing of the grill reached a constant drone, Dean left him to tend to their dinner.

A few minutes later, the steaks were finished, and Dean led them back into the house. Baked potato and sauteed mushrooms accompanied their meal, and Dean seated himself beside Castiel with a tall glass of a dark porter in hand, its tiny bubbles cascading to the bottom.

When Castiel reached for his glass of wine, Dean grabbed his hand. Calluses rubbed rough on his admittedly softer skin, and Castiel reveled in the sudden contact. He looked to Dean to find a small smile on his lips, one he had never seen before.

“Thank you.”

Castiel quirked a brow. “For?”

“Indulging me with this…” Dean faltered, then paused with a thin-lipped frown as he considered his plate. “Is this a date?” he asked with an incredulous shake of his head.

Castiel laughed, head thrown back as he cackled, and Dean, too, laughed with him. “I suppose it is,” Castiel said as his mirth faded. “Is that okay?”

Dean nodded as his laughter subsided. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.” He smiled his bright, toothy grin, and Castiel barely contained the sigh he held as Dean squeezed his hand.

The evening wended its way through long, winding conversations as they leaped from topic to topic. Together they cleaned the kitchen, Dean washing as Castiel dried and put everything away. When they relocated to the living room, Castiel brought with him the bottle of wine, and Dean grabbed a fresh beer. On the couch they sat together, facing one another, and Castiel struggled to focus on Dean’s words. A sea of green threatened to drown him, Dean’s eyes bright with the life of entertaining a guest. He noticed then the dusting of freckles across his nose, light enough to go missed beyond arm’s length. But they sat so close, Castiel had picked apart Dean’s scent with each breath; gun oil, fresh beer, and a hint of heather. Curious, Castiel made a mental note to ask him about it another day.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye, both Dean and Castiel baffled to find themselves in the small hours of the night when Dean yawned. As Castiel stood from the couch, he stalled. He should go. But he didn’t want to appear eager to leave. He wasn’t. The night had gone so well. And Dean seemed to have enjoyed himself despite Castiel’s oafish behavior earlier. But when he stood, Dean remained silent, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

When Dean turned for the door, Castiel followed, disheartened. He had hoped. He wasn’t about to invite himself or demand that Dean let him stay. But he had hoped. Maybe Dean would ask. But despite Dean’s obvious enjoyment of the evening, Castiel knew he had to leave.

At the door, Dean grasped the knob and pulled. “Thanks again,” he said with another beautiful smile.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms then and there. But he resisted, the space between them standing steadfast. Several uncomfortable seconds passed as Castiel lingered, shrugging into his coat and slipping on his shoes slower than necessary. Hope lingered, too, fueled by Dean’s mesmerizing smile and the nervous twitch of his thumb against his fingers.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Castiel sighed at long last. “My place next time?”

Dean reared with a shake of his head, then laughed as he regained his wits. “You know, Cas, I’m beginning to think our night at the bar last week was far more than just drinks between colleagues.”

“You would not be wrong,” Castiel replied as his cheeks burned. “Sorry for being less than forthright with you. I should have just asked, but it’s been a few years, and I was just as nervous as you were. I mean, look at you, I felt like I was aiming way out of my league, I never thought you’d actually agree to meet me at a bar, but you did, and—”

He might have seen it coming had he been paying attention. But Castiel’s nerves had gotten the best of him once more, driving him to ramble until silenced. And silence him Dean did, in what Castiel considered expert fashion. Supple lips landed on his with an intent Castiel tasted as Dean slipped his hand to the small of his back and pulled him flush to his body. Castiel returned his kiss with equal want, desperate for Dean to know how he felt, how Dean had made him feel the last week. He wrapped his arms around him to hold Dean as close to him as possible, dying to feel all of him in that moment. Instead of the full, flush contact he had grasped for, the only sensation Castiel felt then was the single, prominent protrusion of Dean’s stiffened cock against his thigh.

There in that moment Castiel had so recklessly sought, he moaned.

And Dean sighed with him.

He had to do something. Anything, before it was too late to turn back. It had happened so fast, he’d hardly had time to think it through, to understand with complete certainty the implications of what they were doing. And yet, as Castiel wracked his brain for an excuse to part from Dean, he fell deeper into his embrace. The door shut with Dean’s weight as Castiel pressed into him and pinned him to it.

At least Dean had the good sense about him to come up for air. With a gasp for breath, he pulled back, head thumping against the door. His lips had flushed a bright pink, matching his nose. Like Castiel, he stared, focused on Castiel’s own lips. The subtle slip of his tongue soothed the swollen skin when Dean smiled again, and he breathed a soft sigh as he held Castiel close.

“Cas…” Dean sighed again. “I’m not…”

As if struck, Castiel reared back with two steps between them. “Shit. I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Dean interrupted as stepped near and clasped Castiel on the shoulder. “Do not be sorry. That was…” he paused with a sharp breath. “That was so good. I have half a mind to ask you to stay.”

“But?”

“But,” Dean repeated, “I’m still worried about fucking this up.”

God, but he had been so stupid. Of course, Dean felt the same way. Maybe not for the same reasons, but he had said as much already. Castiel closed the space between them with a tight hug, arms wrapped around Dean’s beautifully broad shoulders and held him close.

For a terrifying moment, Dean seemed to hesitate, but then he, too, held him close. With a sigh of relief, Castiel eased into his embrace.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Dean mused with a breath of laughter. “You’ve got me pretty damn busy.”

“Next weekend, then?” Castiel pressed as he parted from Dean. “I’ll cook.”

When Dean opened the door once more, he grinned.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	5. Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel cooks for Dean.

“I’m embarrassed.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped to his as Dean shoved another bite of his burger into his mouth and said, “Vis ef fo gud.”

“I take it you like it?”

Liked it? He wanted to make love to that damn slab of meat. Castiel had hand-made and grilled burgers for them, their second—technically, third—date starting off with a dinner that put his cooking to shame. Rather than put words to those thoughts, Dean simply moaned into his food again.

“Sounds like it,” Castiel said with a laugh. “Anything in particular you wanted to do this evening? Only idea I had was to watch a movie.”

Dean nodded, thinking of several in the moment. He swallowed his food and said, “I have a few in mind.”

“Perfect,” Castiel replied with a small smile, one that Dean has seen before. He wondered how often Castiel smiled like that at other people.

“You’re staring,” he said. “Is there something on my face?”

Dean shook his head as he averted his eyes, returned to his plate. “Uh, no. Just… spacing out. Long day.”

“That might have been my fault,” Castiel replied with a grimace. “Sent you a few new patients today.”

“Keeps me employed,” Dean said after another bite of his burger. “I’m not complaining.”

“Good, because I’ll have more for you next week, too,” he said. “My surgery schedule for the next month is quite full.”

“Oh great,” Dean drawled with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, no more work talk. Plans this weekend?”

Dean swore Castiel hesitated, a brief consideration of his words. But then he spoke, confident and steady once more. “I’m in the middle of remodeling the master bath upstairs. Probably work on that most of the weekend.”

“Oh? Need a hand? You know I’m good with mine,” Dean jested, but when Castiel’s brow shot to his hairline, Dean balked. “I mean, with construction. You know. My backyard. I’m…”

“Sure,” Castiel interrupted with a coy smile. “I could use the help. I’ll show you around the house after dinner. Then we can hit up that movie.”

“Sounds good,” Dean agreed.

Dinner continued, talk of plans for the spring and summer extending the meal well after their plates were clean. They concluded with a pecan pie that Castiel had made, much to Dean’s delight. He ate half of it before he stopped himself and apologized for being a glutton. Castiel shrugged with his small smile again, then motioned he follow him into the kitchen.

“Ready for the grand tour?” Castiel asked as he put their plates in the sink.

“Now I’m really embarrassed,” Dean replied, “Your cooking is far superior _and_ you’re a better host. I didn’t even think to show you around my place.”

The warmth of Castiel’s hand enveloped his, and Dean fell silent. A long moment passed before Castiel spoke. “It’s fine, Dean. I didn’t take any offense. Let’s go. I’ll show you the disaster that is this bathroom.”

“Lead the way,” Dean said, and Castiel set out.

The living room gave way to the first level bedroom hallway. A closed door was passed by, Castiel declaring it a complete mess, filled with his junk, and that one day he should sort through it all. Dean found that strange. Most people put their useless junk in a garage or attic or basement. But spare bedroom?

“Silly,” Castiel finished. “I… don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m an organized person. Most of the time. Some parts of my life are a little messy yet.”

“I get it,” Dean said as Castiel turned back for the stairs. “We all have messy parts to our lives.” The words were out of his mouth before Dean understood what he meant. He thought of John and Sandra—not that they were the messy parts of his life, quite the opposite—but they were a part he wanted to protect. And when Castiel stared ahead at nothing as he paused at the base of the stairs, Dean wondered. How messy, exactly, was Castiel’s life? Another long moment lingered until Castiel’s thoughts seemed to clear and he spoke. “Ready to see this bathroom?”

“You’re building this up to be quite the reveal,” Dean said as Castiel started up the steps. He followed, asking, “Why are you remodeling it?”

“Mold, mostly,” Castiel stated. “House is over a hundred years old and nobody knew the last time the bathroom had been rehabilitated.” At the top of the stairs he turned into the only room across from a lofted space. “I was only going to replace the shower stall until I found the mold.”

Dean hesitated at the door, stuck at the threshold. “Is this…”

Castiel turned back to him and, with an incredulous quirk to his brow, shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed the threshold, a tentative step that revealed the entire room. “Your room?” he asked eyeing the bed. “Your…”

“My bed, yes,” Castiel replied. “Are you… Dean, are you nervous about being in my room?”

As ridiculous as it sounded coming from him, yes, Dean’s nerves had unraveled in a matter of seconds. He had imagined being in Castiel’s room under different circumstances. What those circumstances were, he had no clue. After a failure of willpower, succumbing to his base desires? When he came clean about his past, his children? When he figured out whatever it was Castiel hid from him?

“Dean?”

Castiel stood before him, so close, Dean smelled the carpenter’s saw dust and medical soap emanating from him. Warm, too, Castiel radiated a heat that enveloped him. The dizzying combination left Dean speechless, and so, instead, he reached out for Castiel’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Dean nodded with a deep breath. “Show me the bathroom?”

Castiel took his hand and crossed the room with him in tow. “Voila.”

Bare bones, the entire bathroom had been stripped to its framing. Subflooring and beams were all that made up the entire space but for a huge window in the far wall over the tub.

“It is a mess,” Dean stated.

“It’s… a work in progress,” Castiel retorted. “I’m working on the shower first. Once that’s in, the tub and toilet are next. Then the cabinets and counters. Then the floor last. Heated, too.”

“Oh, fancy,” Dean commented. “What’s the water pressure like?”

Castiel sighed. “It was abysmal. House had old lead pipes that I had replaced. Now it’s fantastic,” Castiel motioned to the space where the shower would be, plumbing roughed in. “I’d show you but…”

Dean laughed a nervous chuckle at that. “You want to show me the water pressure in your shower?”

Pink slashed across Castiel’s nose as he stuttered a response. “I mean… sure. Some day. When it’s done.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he averted his gaze, seeming to search the ceiling for something better to say.

Dammit. He’d intended for a casual dinner, nothing more than time to get to know each other. He’d made that much clear last week. But Castiel’s unintentional flirting had bolstered Dean’s confidence, and so, he took a chance. A smooth slip of his hand into Castiel’s drew his attention from the bathroom. With his focus, Dean lead him back into the bedroom until he felt the bed at the back of his thighs. Castiel followed without much convincing, his devious smile matching Dean's. When he licked his lips, Dean indulged, every concern forgotten.

Their lips met in a rush, eager and insistent. Castiel responded to Dean’s every move, each touch mimicked, each swipe of his tongue matched, and each roll of his hips mirrored. With one hand at the small of his back and the other in his hair, Dean enveloped Castiel in an embrace so close, the world faded away, consisting only of them. Oh, how glorious a world it was; strong arms that reached for more, breathless gasps filled with lust, and subtle moans that encouraged his desires.

But that world shattered the second Dean tried to lean back for the bed. Castiel parted from him in a sudden burst of babble about second-thoughts, hands running through his hair. Dean slumped to a seat on the bed, unbalanced by Castiel’s rapid change of mind.

“Cas,” Dean started, but he continued to ramble incoherent half-sentences, “Cas!”

Castiel wheeled about, eyes wide and mouth gaping as though shocked to find Dean still there. A long second dragged before he shook his head, then spoke. “Sorry. I…” he paused, hands raised in confusion. “I freaked out. I thought I crossed a line last week. And now we’re here, doing this awkward dance again.”

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean excused. “I get it. I… I’m not sure what I want. I drew a line and I crossed it. It’s confusing and it’s not fair to you, especially when you are so sure of yourself—”

“No, Dean, I’m not,” Castiel stated. “I’m really not. And not because of you.” He paused again, then eyed the spot on the bed beside Dean.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Castiel crossed the space between them and sat beside Dean. He gathered what willpower remained as the warmth of Castiel’s hand enveloped his and a muscled thigh sat flush to his own. He remained silent in the wake of that sudden connection. Son of a bitch, he hoped he hadn't ruined the entire evening.

“I like you, Dean,” Castiel started. “A lot. Hell, more than most people I've met lately. It's been a lonely couple of years.”

“I'm… sorry to hear that,” Dean said. “Good looking guy like you with a giant brain and a big heart must be intimidating to most folks.”

That grabbed his attention. “I can't figure out why you’re single. Compliments like that are few and far between, and you give them so freely,” he paused, reconsidering Dean's words. “It was a compliment, right?”

“Yes,” Dean said as he squeezed his hand. “A much deserved compliment.”

“Okay you can stop—”

“Because you're an amazing cook, too.”

“Sure, but—”

“And an excellent host.”

“Well—”

“With great taste in Scotch, I peeked at your liquor cabinet.”

“How dare—”

“And incredibly smooth hands for a guy that does his own carpentry.”

“Alright, I get it!” Castiel shouted. “You’re still not getting in my pants tonight.”

Dean's jaw dropped as he feigned offense. “And here I was just trying to give you more compliments because you said you get so few.”

The pink hue of embarrassment colored Castiel's nose once more, then spread to his cheeks as he averted his eyes. Dean tried and failed to contain his laughter, but when Castiel shook with his own silent laughter, he leaned back into his full belly laugh.

“Alright,” Castiel said through his smile. “Let's keep the make out sessions to a minimum. For now.”

Dean nodded. “I’d like that. Bare minimum.”

Castiel smiled once more, but it lasted a mere second and never touched his eyes. That look, so full of regret, broke Dean’s heart. Without another thought, he pulled Castiel into him and placed a gentle, unassuming kiss on his lips.

Tension drained from his shoulders as Dean held him close and Castiel melted into him. Fuck, he felt good. No, better than good. Castiel, so pliant in his embrace, enthralled Dean. He pushed no further, hand yet entwined with his, and he enjoyed the kiss for what it was. A simple—long—kiss.

They parted together, timed as if Castiel could read his mind. When Castiel laughed through his nose, Dean shoved him away.

“Alright, enough of this chick flick shit, let’s go watch Expendables.”

Castiel’s cackling laughter followed him from the bedroom, and at that moment, Dean vowed to make him laugh like that every day for the rest of his life.


	6. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets Dean for dinner at a restaurant.

The weekend passed in a haze of construction. Dean had returned to Castiel’s house on Saturday and Sunday to help with the bathroom, and, true to his word, proved excellent with his hands in more ways than one. Tight shoulder muscles stood no chance against his touch, much to Castiel’s relief.

It came as no surprise on Sunday evening when Dean asked him out on another date. A restaurant, he'd said, his favorite, one he'd found tucked away in the middle of town and highly underrated. With plans settled to meet, Castiel had looked forward to that moment all week.

And so, at seven o'clock the following Friday evening, Castiel rushed down the sidewalk as he searched for the strange, hidden entrance to the restaurant. He passed it twice before noticing the façade brick wall, circled behind it, and found the door.

A host greeted him and asked for a name. He gave Dean's and, with a quick check of the giant leather-bound book on the podium, the host beckoned Castiel follow him.

Around the corner, the restaurant flourished, a massive expanse of at least fifty tables in various sections with ceilings so high, indiscernible art teased at his imagination. Though he wore slacks and a tie, Castiel felt underdressed. People in their most formal gowns and suits, with several men in tuxedos sat at every table he passed. He tugged at the neck of his shirt and wished he had at least put on a sport coat. God, he hadn’t even bothered buffing his boots. An absent-minded hand smoothed his unruly hair, hoping to tame the odd cowlicks and curls.

The tiny table hidden in a dark corner of the restaurant might have been the host’s way of hiding him from the other patrons. But when he spotted Dean as he stood from the table, every concern of Castiel’s had fled in an instant.

Black boots, slim dark grey slacks, a black shirt, and black tie comprised of Dean’s ensemble. Stunned, Castiel stared, the host forgotten. The restaurant itself ceased to exist. For one, infinitesimal moment, there was only Dean.

“Cas?”

Castiel hadn't seen Dean move, but there he stood, his whispered breath on Castiel’s neck and his confident touch at the back of his arm. Gooseflesh raced along his back in a shiver, and he sighed so loud, Dean checked the host over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he asked, his glare fading when he looked Castiel in the eye. “Are you alright?”

How could answer that honestly? _No, Dean, I'm not alright, the sight of you and your fitted pants and huge shoulders make me weak in the knees._ “I'm fine,” Castiel muttered. “Just… a little light headed. Been a long day.”

“Then sit,” Dean insisted as he pulled out a chair and the host floated away on long strides. “Did something happen? You look… your face is a little red.”

“Is it?” Castiel asked with a crooked smile as he sat. “God, I'm too old for this, I need a drink.”

Dean blinked at that, momentarily caught off guard. But then he smiled a knowing grin, leaned in, and whispered, “You look great, Cas.” As he stood, the brush of his lips on Castiel’s cheek extracted another deep sigh from him. “I'll go get us a few drinks from the bar. Scotch?”

Castiel nodded, the only response he could give, and with that, Dean disappeared.

Whether seconds or minutes passed, Castiel wasn’t sure. The only passage of time he marked was the incessant chimes of Dean's phone left at the table. After the fifth text message, Castiel's curiosity piqued. By the seventh message he scowled. And when the tenth alert sounded, he worried.

Who texted someone that much? Insidious whispers of possible people perforated Castiel’s subconscious, hints of other dates, of other interests. And why wouldn't Dean date around? Young guy like him probably had to fight them off.

When the next message came in, Castiel snatched the phone from the table. Without unlocking it, he read the preview and immediately regretted it

_See you tomorrow, Dad! Love you!_

Dad.

No. It had to be a nickname. He played softball and was the oldest guy on the team, looked out for everyone. He volunteered for youth groups. He sang in a choir.

_Love you!_

He put the phone back down exactly as he had found it and not a minute too soon. Dean rounded the corner with their drinks, his brilliant smile wide and sparkling. “Sorry, bar is three people deep.”

The Batman action figure raced to the front of his mind before Castiel responded. “Thanks.”

Dean sat and handed his drink to Castiel, then picked up his phone. Castiel did his best to sip from his glass but watched from the rim of his glass as Dean read his messages.

His smile softened into one so familiar, Castiel’s heart galloped. He too had worn that smile many times over the years on many amazing days. Jean’s first smile. First laugh. First step. First day of school. He found himself grinning at those memories until understanding crashed into him with the force of a speeding truck.

Dean was a father.

When Castiel considered everything-the house, the Batman figure, the odd explanations, the early work hours-it all made sense. Dean had at least one child, if not two, given the number of spare rooms in his house. All manner of questions raced through his head, each fighting for dominance, until the ultimate question wedged its way to the fore.

Why? Why had Dean not told him? As soon as the question occurred to him, Castiel had his answer. He, too, had kept Jean a secret. Dean must feel the same way about his children.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “You’re really quiet. What’s the deal?”

A nervous glance at Dean’s phone nearly gave him away when Dean followed his gaze. With a shake of his head, he said, “Uh… nothing. Like I said, long day.” He hefted his glass and held it out to Dean. “To date number four?”

Dean beamed at that as he picked up his glass. “So the bar was a date, then.”

It wasn’t a question. “I figured since it went so well, I might as well count it,” Castiel said with a smile of his own and Dean laughed his loud, full laugh, head thrown back and a hand on his stomach.

When his laughter subsided, Dean clicked his glass against Castiel’s and said, “To us.”

As Castiel opened his mouth, Dean’s phone chimed again. It took all Castiel’s willpower to hold his smile and reply.

“To us.”

Though Castiel did his best to take that toast to heart, invasive thoughts teased at the edges of his mind the entire evening. Dinner came and went with nominal conversation, but suspicions kept Castiel from focusing. A part of him wanted to come clean, to confess to hiding a part of himself, but then his better judgment would convince him otherwise. It wasn’t until after dessert—a giant piece of pumpkin pie—that Castiel caught his sullen mood. But by then it was too late. Confused disappointment clouded Dean’s eyes, no longer their bright green, but a turbulent ocean of mottled grey.

With the bill paid—split down the middle—Dean stood and grabbed his coat. “I guess I’ll see you at work?”

Castiel followed but left his coat on the back of his chair. “I… Dean, look, I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted all night.”

Dean shrugged with a short frown “It’s fine. I get it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “You’ve got a lot going on. I do, too.”

“No, you don’t…” Castiel stuttered, “I had a good time tonight. Thank you,” he said as he stepped closer to Dean only for him to shy away.

“You sure you had fun?” Dean asked as he glared. “Didn’t seem like I had your complete attention.”

A sting tingled in his cheeks as Castiel bristled with anger. “You did have my complete attention. I could say the same about you and your damn text messages,” he spat. “Who do you text all the time?”

Dean shrugged on his coat and turned on his heel for the door. “No one!” Dean barked over his shoulder. “Friends, family. Mind your own damn business.”

Damn. Castiel grabbed his coat and tossed it over a shoulder as he skipped a step to chase after Dean. “Hey, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything.”

Out in the chill night air, Dean rounded on Castiel and shouted, “Then why ask me who I’m texting?! What difference does it make?”

“You got on my case for being distracted!” he retorted. “You were distracted, too.”

Dean huffed an exaggerated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “I… I was. I’m sorry. It was my brother. I’m sorry, I’m just scared.”

Castiel closed the space between them, desperate. He needed to feel him, be near him in such a fragile moment. He hated the fact that Dean felt the need to lie to him, but he understood. Castiel was many things but a hypocrite was not one of them. He took Dean’s hand in his own and pulled him close as he slipped his other hand around his broad shoulders.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he whispered. “I get it. I’m scared, too.”

Nothing compared to the sensation of Dean’s touch, so insistent, so needy as they grasped his hips. He held Castiel so close, his hands settled at the small of his back beneath his coat, Castiel felt the heavy thrum of his heart against his chest. A ragged sigh dragged past his lips as he muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

He wished more than anything that Dean felt safe enough with him to share his family. “Me, too,” Castiel replied despite his feelings. “Me, too.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Dean said as he leaned back. “Next weekend?”

Castiel nodded as he licked his lips, drawing Dean’s attention. “Sure,” he said. “Your place again?”

Dean, too, licked his lips. “Yeah,” he sighed as he neared, eyes closing and a hand slipping to the back of his neck.

Castiel met him halfway, their lips connecting in a soft touch that smoldered with a heat trapped beneath the surface. It begged for release, for attention and care, but Castiel tightened the lid. He wasn’t ready. And neither was Dean. But his lips, God, his tongue flooded Castiel with a desire he’d not felt in years. When Dean smoothed his hand from his back to his ass, Castiel startled and parted from him with a gasp.

“Sorry,” Dean started, “I got—”

“Do not,” Castiel interrupted. “Do not apologize for that. Never apologize for that.”

There it was, the return of Dean’s devious grin a welcomed sight. “Next weekend?”

“Your place?” Castiel repeated.

Dean nodded. “Eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

Castiel watched as Dean walked away, his judgment yet in conflict with his heart.


	7. Follow-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heads down to Castiel's office for some paperwork, but gets far more than that.

Seven days had passed since their last date. Later that night, Castiel would be arriving at eight o’clock. But surrounded by mounds of paperwork and a patient list long as his leg, Dean floundered. His heart skipped beats far too often, and his left eye had started twitching by Monday. He had traded a few polite text messages with Castiel, but since dinner at the restaurant, things felt different.

There had been one moment so brief Dean thought he might have imagined it, where Castiel had gone quiet. He seemed to be in another place, another time. But that moment had passed, and the evening had continued much like the others. They talked, shared stories, and traded hobbies. Then there had been the argument, but that had resolved as quick as it had started. As far as Dean was concerned, Castiel had enjoyed their time together the same as himself.

But text messages the following day were few and far between. And while courteous, Dean worried he had offended Castiel somehow. His typical responses, long-winded and fully typed, had vanished; Castiel had responded with shorthand and too few words the remainder of the weekend. By Tuesday, Dean had stopped bothering to text him, and it was not until Thursday that he received anything from Castiel. Even then, it was a simple, “G’morning,” and nothing else. When Dean asked how he was doing, Castiel never responded.

Something had happened. Something significant enough, it had pushed Castiel away from him. If only he knew what it was. Then maybe he could fix it, right whatever wrong he had committed, or best yet, apologize so they could move on.

Dean stared at his desk covered in papers yet to be filed. God, there had to be something he could do. Their last night together replayed in his head. No single moment stuck out, besides the argument. But they had resolved it, and quick at that. No. That couldn’t be it. Something else was wrong and he was determined to find out what.

With an excuse ready, Dean grabbed a stack of patient papers and rushed from his office.

The three-minute walk across the building passed in a blur of imagined conversations. What he would say, what he would ask, how Castiel might respond. Every scenario played out in his head, none ending the way he wanted, and he forced himself to stop over-analyzing it.

He rounded the corner and spotted the door to Castiel’s consultation office. Through a narrow window to the left of the door, he spotted Castiel talking to a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair wearing a business suit. When Dean neared the door, his hand stopped on the handle, frozen.

The woman was holding the hand of a little girl around eight years old. As Castiel talked, the girl shifted her weight from foot to foot, her eyes wandering the office until they landed on Dean’s through the window and stared.

He had only seen eyes that blue in one other person. Understanding slammed into Dean with such force, he stumbled back from the door. Everything, from Castiel’s house, to his mysterious behavior last weekend, finally made sense.

Castiel was a father. Just like him. And he had kept that fact from Dean just as he had kept his children a secret from Castiel.

Son of a bitch.

He wanted nothing more in the world than to burst into Castiel’s office and… do what? Interrupt them? No, that would be a disaster. Maybe he could get Castiel’s attention through the window and… again, to what end? What purpose did it serve to jump on the fact that Castiel had a daughter, one that he had hid from him? He’d have to confess to having children of his own, then.

The second revelation came in a wave of panic as Dean backed down the hallway. Their last date replayed once more in his mind, Castiel’s distant stares and awkward silences—not to mention the argument—all made sense. He knew. He knew Dean had children of his own.

Well, fuck.

It wasn’t until he backed to the adjacent hallway that Dean turned for his office, an awkward and slow plod that wandered with his thoughts. There was no way he’d be able to focus the rest of the afternoon. He had to talk to Castiel before he came over that evening. Otherwise he would go insane waiting until their date. But what would he say? _Hey, Cas, I spied on you in your office at work today and saw you talking with your ex and your daughter, why did you hide that from me?_

Great.

Back in his clinic, Dean saw the afternoon through, three appointments that dragged abnormally. Preoccupied, he made little small talk and often asked his patients to repeat themselves. By the end of the third appointment, he all but ran to his office, threw on his coat, and sprinted through the door for his car.

Not that that had helped. He forced himself to keep both hands on the wheel, the urge to call Castiel resisted until he arrived at his house. He was barely through the front door before he smashed the call button with his thumb.

“Dr. Novak.”

“Cas, it’s… it’s me. It’s Dean,” he stuttered. “Why did you answer your phone like that?”

A long sigh sounded on the other end of the line. “Sorry, I didn’t look, just answered.”

“Oh,” Dean stated. “You okay? You sound stressed.”

Castiel grunted before he spoke. “Stressed, yeah. A lot going on at the hospital today.”

Dean paused as he kicked off his shoes. “Like what? Tell me about it, might make you feel better.”

Another disgruntled sound emanated from his phone. “Just… a lot of shit happened today. Appointments, an emergency this morning, a walk-in this afternoon—”

“You take walk-ins?” Dean interrupted.

“Sort of, it depends—”

Anxious, Dean interjected again. “Who was it?”

Nothing. Nothing but silence followed Dean’s question for several seconds until Castiel cleared his throat and asked, “Why do you want to know? And what’s with the questions? Can’t we talk tonight when I’m there?”

“I was just asking how your day went—”

“No,” Castiel interrupted. “You’ve never cared about my patient list before it hits your desk. Why do you want to know more about a walk-in?”

Dean couldn’t restrain himself any further. “Was she just a walk-in?”

“How do you know it was a woman?!” Castiel snapped. “No, forget it. I’m done. Fuck this, I don’t need this bullshit today. Good-bye, Dean. I might call you some time, but don’t bother calling me until you get over your paranoia and your own damn secrets before trying to pry others away from theirs.”

The call ended with a click and Dean tore the phone from his ear as if it had bitten him. He slumped into a stool at the kitchen counter, forehead cupped in both hands, and sighed. He deserved that. He deserved to be alone after that sort of behavior. Castiel was right. He had to tell him.

But how?


	8. Physical Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel races to Dean's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut.

Shit.

Castiel stared at his phone, the tingling numbness of adrenaline rushing to his fingers and toes. The lead weight of guilt sank to the pit of his stomach, and he squeezed his phone in his fist to fight the nausea.

Fuck.

Cruel. Unreasonable. Spiteful. Callous. Every terrible state of existence in the dictionary raced through his head. But worst of all…

God damnit.

He was a fucking hypocrite.

No. It couldn’t end there. Not like that. There had to be a way to handle their lives together. They deserved that much. Dean deserved that more than anyone he had ever met.

In a split decision, Castiel grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He had to get to Dean's before he left, before either of them regretted what happened next. He drove as fast as he dared, hoping with all his heart Dean would still be home when he arrived. Every scenario played out in his mind, none the ending he sought. So, he forced it from his thoughts and drove, mindless, numb but for the guilt deep in his gut.

Stuck at a stop light, Castiel glanced at his phone, surprised to find it silent. He had expected Dean to call him despite Castiel telling him not to. Another look as the light turned green served as his final check, and Castiel tossed the phone onto his dashboard as he hit the gas.

The twenty minute drive frayed his nerves to nothing by the time he arrived at Dean's. He slammed on the brakes and barely waited for the car to stop moving as he flew from his seat and sprinted to Dean's front door.

But once there, fist poised to knock, he hesitated. The worst ending played out in his mind, and for a single breath, Castiel felt doomed to that fate.

And then he knocked.

Several seconds passed before the door opened and revealed Dean, eyes red and nose redder. When Castiel opened his mouth, all the words he had readied, all the apologies and requests for forgiveness faded away. Instead, he gaped, mind ground to a halt. Nothing he had prepared to say in that moment would fix anything. Nothing would help Dean understand. That was up to Dean to determine.

Then they spoke at the same time. “We need to talk.”

Of all the things Castiel had expected, Dean’s smile was at the bottom of the list. But smile he did, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as Dean stepped aside with a gesture. “Dude, it’s freezing, get inside.”

Castiel obliged with a smile of his own as he shuffled past Dean. Once inside, he turned and waited, not wanting to stay any longer than Dean wished. When Castiel turned around, Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Gimme your coat and go sit at the counter. We’re not doing this in the entryway.”

Not one to miss an innuendo, Castiel snorted, but left the thought unsaid. Not that it needed saying. Dean cursed as he snatched Castiel’s coat from him and shoved a hanger in one arm. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Castiel sang as he wandered to the kitchen and seated himself at the counter as instructed.

On his heels, Dean entered and grabbed two glasses from a cupboard. “Syrah or Pinot?”

“What?”

Dean grunted with another eyeroll. “Do you want a glass of Syrah or Pinot? The Syrah is from Chile and the Pinot is Willamette Valley.”

“I…” Castiel paused with a side-eyed squint. “Since when do you know wine well enough to buy a Chilean Syrah?”

“I know my wine.”

Castiel’s glare fell flat. When he said nothing, Dean scoffed as he said, “Fine, I called Sam. These were supposed to be for dinner tonight.”

“You bought them because your brother recommended them?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean stated. “I went to a tasting by myself like a fucking creep and found ones I liked so we could share them. That’s why I have two bottles.”

Christ. “You went to a wine tasting. Alone,” Castiel repeated. “Why? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because it was supposed to be a surprise, dammit!” Dean barked. “And I… I fucked it up. I… kept things from you I shouldn’t have,” he continued as he opened the Syrah and poured himself a drink.

Dean wore guilt like a favorite shirt. And Castiel knew that guilt all too well. He pushed his glass across the counter. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Dean filled Castiel’s glass and slid it back to him with a thin smile. “I know.”

Glass in hand, Castiel waited for Dean to say more, but those wide green eyes compelled him to speak. “Jean.”

“Come again?” Dean asked.

Castiel sighed as the weight rolled from his shoulders. “My daughter’s name is Jean.”

Dean blinked once, then twice before responding. “She looks just like you.”

The last of Castiel’s confusion disappeared in a wisp of smoke. “You saw them at the hospital on Wednesday.”

Dean nodded. “It was an accident. I wasn’t spying or stalking. I needed some paperwork redone for a patient. And it was an excuse to come talk to you in person,” he rambled. “I was worried. Our last few text conversations were shorter than they used to be.”

Castiel sipped from his glass, the first taste. Indeed, the Chilean Syrah lived up to its reputation, full of bold spices. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. It’s my own damn fault. I snooped.”

“You saw the texts from Sandra and John at dinner last week.”

At least Dean had figured that out on his own. Castiel stared as he waited for more, but Dean said nothing. “I did. I was worried. You were getting so many messages, my brain jumped to the worst conclusion and I got jealous.”

Dean stared again, but remained silent, his face unreadable. Time stretched as the numbing tingle returned, his fingers and toes chilled to the bone. Dare he ask what Dean thought? Did he want that honesty? Did he deserve it?

No, Castiel decided. He did not. Better leave things where they were. “I should go. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” He drained his glass of wine in two swallows, then slipped from the bar stool and headed for the door.

“Cas, don’t go.”

With one foot shoved into a shoe, Castiel looked over his shoulder. “What?”

Dean rounded the counter and met him toe to toe. “Stay. Stay here tonight. With me.”

“Why?”

With another step, Dean consumed what little Castiel had left of his personal space. A touch so full of intent slipped beneath Castiel’s arm, and he shivered. When Dean spoke, he pressed close, his lips on his ear. “Because I want you to stay. I wanted you to stay the last time you were here but didn’t have the balls to say it.”

As he had before, Castiel melted into Dean, arms wrapped around his shoulders. “You’re not mad at me?”

“No,” Dean replied. “How could I be? I’m not a hypocrite.”

“I suppose I am,” Castiel muttered into the crook of his neck. Though serious, he couldn’t help but notice Dean’s distinct sigh as he wrapped his other arm around his waist and pulled him flush to his chest.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” Dean chided, “if you tell me you’ll stay.”

He had to see him, look Dean in the eye to know without a doubt he meant everything he said. When their eyes locked, Castiel gaped, everything he had wanted to say forgotten. Dean had no right. Nobody had any right to be so pretty, to have eyes so green amidst the perfect mask of freckles across his nose and cheeks. When Dean licked his lips, Castiel’s attention snapped to their full, supple flesh, desperate to taste him again.

The same thought must have run through Dean’s mind, for they moved together. Their lips met with a need so palpable, Castiel tasted it. He kicked free of his shoe before Dean picked him up and carried him to the far room at the end of the hall, his bedroom, and threw him onto the bed.

Fabric flew in all directions as they tore shirts and pants from one another. Castiel had but a moment to ogle Dean in his boxer briefs with his soft stomach, muscled thighs, and the distinct shape of his stiffened cock twitching against the fabric. Castiel obliged him, fingers teasing at the waistband until Dean growled with want, then slipped them to his ankles.

An inch from his lips, Dean’s cock stood erect, a drop of precum dripping from the tip. Without any further thought, Castiel opened his mouth and consumed him. Dean whimpered a sound so pathetic, Castiel needed to hear it again, and so, he withdrew him to the tip. That first bob of his head left Dean a trembling mess, his hands diving into Castiel’s hair and grasping him tight.

“Keep going,” Dean demanded. “Suck my cock.”

Castiel barely had a moment to react. Dean thrust into his mouth, the length of his erection slipping down his throat and Castiel braced himself, nails dug into his flexed thighs. Repeated moans fell from Dean’s lips, nonsense and babble mixed with orders to keep going, _fuck yes, suck my cock, Cas, more, fuck!_

It was only another minute later when Dean snapped his hips back and withdrew himself from Castiel’s mouth as he gasped. His thick fingers wrapped around the base of his cock with slow, short strokes as his chest heaved with gasping breaths. And then Dean’s eyes rolled to his, Castiel eager for another order.

“What do you want to do?”

Dean looked to the nightstand. “Grab a condom out of there. You can pick.”

Castiel wasted no time leaning for the drawer. “You don’t have a preference?” He found the condom and a bottle of lube, grabbing both.

“Do you think I do this all the time?” Dean asked through a long groan.

With the condom ready, he hesitated a moment before rolling it onto Dean’s cock. “You don’t?” The smooth liquid ran down his length as Castiel squeezed the bottle.

“I fucked a guy once in college,” Dean said as he smiled. “Been a long string of women since then. So, I guess you made the right choice.”

Castiel hummed a laugh through his nose. “Where do you want me?”

Dean motioned further onto the bed. “Just like that,” he said as Castiel shifted back. “I wanna see your face. Those amazing blue eyes. Anybody ever tell you you’ve got—”

“The bluest eyes they’ve ever seen, yeah,” Castiel said as he rolled them. “I know.”

Dean hooked an arm beneath his leg with a rough grasp. “Good,” he started as he leaned in close, their bodies flush. “I want to see the light explode in them when you come for me.”

He couldn’t help but moan a long cry, Dean’s hips rubbing his cock against Castiel’s. He reached between them as Dean sat back, grasped them both in one hand, and stroked. The sight of their cocks, swollen and throbbing together, sucked the air from Castiel’s chest as he moaned again, his cry mixed with Dean’s.

“Okay, stop,” he stuttered. “You keep that up and we won’t get much further.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Castiel said with a coy smirk. “You could just come all over my chest.”

Dean’s wicked grin wiped the smile off his face. “What makes you think I won’t do that anyway?”

Before Castiel voiced his pithy retort, Dean slipped from his grasp, so slick with lube, and lifted his other leg. Though he had been a bit rough, a tender warmth smoldered in Dean’s emerald gaze as he checked in with Castiel one last time.

The sight of Dean towering over him and between his thighs shattered his world. Castiel acquiesced with a tiny, yet vigorous nod of his head. And with that, time stopped.

Each inch of Dean’s cock—of which there were several—eased into him so excruciatingly slow, Castiel fought the urge to scream. He wanted nothing more than to grab Dean by the hips and slam them home, pelvis to pelvis. But the desire to give Dean exactly what he wanted held him fast, and so Castiel simply moaned as he gripped the sheets.

“Fuck, Cas, you feel so damn good,” Dean groaned as he settled between his thighs, an inche shy of completely sheathed. When his glazed look focused on him, Dean laughed through his nose. “You look good too. Knees up to your chest, my cock in you ass. You’re a mess, I wish you could see yourself.”

“Please, Dean,” Castiel begged as he squirmed. “Quit teasing me. I… I can’t stand it anymore.”

Dean moaned with him at that, the last of his cock sliding in with a lascivious roll of his hips. “And listen to how you beg for me. That,” he paused with another groan as he withdrew, “is hot as hell.”

Son of a bitch, why had they waited? Why had he worried so? Because they were perfect for each other? Made for one another? He fit Dean like a glove, as if they had known each other for years. And everything Dean did, every touch, ever word he said, every thrust of his hips as he picked up speed was perfect.

No. Better than perfect. Dean was unreal. He was heaven on earth.

Each lewd slap of their hips filled the room, the rhythm to their songs of praise for one another. When Dean lay flat against his chest, Castiel met him halfway, their lips meeting once more for another long kiss. And with their connection so complete, the heat of Castiel’s arousal raced towards its end.

“Dean,” Castiel moaned into his lips. “I’m… I’m so close.”

Dean gripped his shoulder as he rose, and the hard thrusts of his cock reached deeper. Castiel howled a moan, head thrown back and sung in harmony with Dean’s rapturous cry. The bite of his nails in Castiel’s shoulder pushed his limits, the pain agonizingly sweet. And the look of pure ecstasy on Dean’s face pushed him over the edge.

The tightly bound coil of his orgasm burst in a shower stars behind tightly closed lids. When he reached for his cock, Dean slapped his hand away, and Castiel’s eyes opened with the shock of his cum spurting from the engorged head.

Dean’s hips stopped with a sudden twitch, withdrawing from Castiel, and he tore the condom off. Hard and fast stokes coupled with his moans as Castiel urged him on, his eyes wide and staring. When he slowed, his entire body froze but for one last heavy twitch of his cock.

A long white rope of his cum shot out and landed on Castiel’s chest, reaching from neck to navel. When Dean’s grip tightened on Castiel’s lingering erection, he whimpered as another unexpected stream of his own cum lanced upward to land across Dean’s chest. The final twitches of arousal extracted the last of Dean’s climax, small drops of his cum finding Castiel’s stomach with a long sigh of release.

Several breathless seconds passed as they stared at one another, eyes locked and chests heaving. It wasn’t until Dean reached for the nightstand drawer that Castiel thought to speak. “What are you—”

“Here,” Dean interrupted as he handed Castiel a washcloth. “I really enjoy doing that, but I’m… I dunno, I just like being clean right after.”

Castiel took the rag and wiped his stomach, then handed the cloth to Dean. “Why not just hop in the shower?”

Dean did his best, then tossed the washcloth aside. “And skip cuddling? Are you kidding me?” Dean said as he lay beside him. “This is the best part.”

Massive arms wrapped around him and pulled Castiel close. With his nose buried in his neck, Castiel inhaled deep, the scent of charcoal and whisky filling his nose. “Did you… did you have a drink before I got here?”

Dean grunted at that. “I… realized after I started drinking that you were probably on your way.”

“And you started the coals?”

A brief hesitation preceded Dean’s response. “I did. They’re probably ready now…”

“Wow,” Castiel mused as he shifted nearer, lips brushing his. “Was that your plan all along?”

Dean kissed him, a soft press of his lips that he repeated multiple times before answering. “Maybe.”

“So, does that mean…”

Dean kissed him again, deeper, with need. And again, Castiel melded into him, so close he couldn't tell where he ended and Dean began. Whether seconds or minutes passed as the swam in one another’s embrace, Castiel couldn't be sure.

“I love you.”

Had he not seen Dean's lips move, Castiel wouldn't have believed his ears. “You—” he stuttered, then fell silent. Why question him? After the last month, what was there to be so afraid of? The words were out of his mouth without any further debate. “I love you, too.”

A million stars in the sky paled in comparison to the light so alive in Dean's eyes as he smiled. And as they lay there together in the silence broken only by their contented sighs and soft laughter, Castiel thanked whatever gods there may be for their second chance.

Plans for the next day took shape in his mind's eye; breakfast in bed, snuggling well into the later hours of the morning, and maybe another round of tonight’s workout. He wanted to tell Dean his ideas, but no more than five minutes later did he hear his soft snores, asleep with his face buried in a pillow.

Castiel let him sleep. After all, nothing healed better than a little rest after physical therapy.


End file.
